Collecting Dust
by Yuuki Miyaka
Summary: A serial killer is on the loose in the streets of Tokyo, and Weiss is out to find him.
1. Prologue

Untitled

**Disclaimer**: You know the drill . . .

**Warnings**: Angst, torture, potential graphic violence, darkness, death.

**Author's Notes**: This was inspired by reading the Bone Collector and then reading some of Shira's fics immediately after. There are definite elements from the Bone Collector in it but at the moment, since I'm not sure where it's going, I'm reluctant to call it a crossover or fusion. We'll see what happens, ne? I'm not sure how far I'll get in it, but we'll see . . . 

**Acknowledgements**: Thanks to Rhina-hime for being the "sounding board" for any scene I'm nervous about.

Collecting Dust  
A Weiß Kreuz fic  
By: Yuuki Miyaka  
Prologue

They were tired, weary from the flight and anxious to get home. It had been a long and ultimately unproductive business trip, and they were returning with little more to show for it than a suitcase full of dirty clothes apiece. But that wasn't the problem. Their problem lay in the fact that they were more than simply partners. Their business relationship had coalesced into a love affair, and this trip had put a serious strain on that. And so they were weary and more than ready to leave each other in favor of a nice, serene night of solitude.

When the taxi pulled up willing to transport them, they decided to endure another half-hour or so in each others' companies, rather than wait for another one. The cab smelled musty, the pine-tree hanging from its mirror doing little to combat the odor. And they each felt their eyelids drooping.

When they woke, the cab had stopped. They blinked wearily, trying to figure out if they had arrived at one of the two destinations. The tired confusion bled away into worry and paranoia as they began to realize that they had no idea where they were. They called out to the driver, who ignored them in favor of whatever he was doing. They couldn't see his face, but it didn't occur to them until he pulled out something black, slipping it over his head. It was a ski mask . . .

* * *

She sat up, body battered and bruised, a headache spiralling out from the base of her skull. She had little doubt that the blow could have potentially killed her. Instead, however, it had only served to knock her out and leave her with a headache so intense that when she finally managed to struggle into a seated position, all she could see were stars and all she could do was force down the reflex urge to retch. She couldn't tell if she'd moaned or not. The pain was too intense to allow hearing. But slowly her vision cleared and she began to percieve her surroundings. And it was just about then that her memory began to slowly return.

He'd held a knife to her throat as he led her away from the cab, making sure that her companion remained inside. She'd thought, for a moment, that he would be able to escape that way, but unfortunately, just before they were out of the door, she'd caught sight of the razors placed where the locks had once been. And there were no handles anymore. She'd noted that, too, with rapidly-increasing hopelessness. He'd led her to this tiny, disgusting room, beginning the beating almost before she was in the door. The beating had ended, no doubt, with her stretched out on the floor, unconscious.

The bindings were extremely uncomfortable, but she was familiar with them in theory, though not practice. They were bondage cuffs, wide leather that was designed to normally keep the person wearing them somewhat comfortable. But they'd been drawn far too tight, and she could do nothing about it. Along with that was the fact that her hands were bound behind her back using an arm sheath, the heavy leather encasing both arms at once and holding them tightly behind her back. The angle was painful, but she hadn't noticed her shoulder's cramps when faced with all the other pain in her body as well. Her legs were bound together as well, the thick cuffs separated by a chain just short enough to inhibit walking or running.

Her brown eyes were weary, miserable, and the hope had completely faded from them. All that was left was her will for survival, and that was beginning to fade as well. 


	2. Chapter One

Collecting Dust Chapter One 

**Disclaimer**: You know the drill . . .

**Warnings**: Angst, torture, potential graphic violence, darkness, death.

**Author's Notes**: This was inspired by reading the Bone Collector and then reading some of Shira's fics immediately after. There are definite elements from the Bone Collector in it but at the moment, since I'm not sure where it's going, I'm reluctant to call it a crossover or fusion. We'll see what happens, ne? I'm not sure how far I'll get in it, but we'll see . . . 

**Acknowledgements**: Thanks to Rhina-hime for being the "sounding board" for any scene I'm nervous about.

Collecting Dust  
A Weiß Kreuz fic  
By: Yuuki Miyaka  
Chapter One

Aya concentrated solemnly on the plant before him, spraying the broad leaves and wiping them down with a delicate touch. His eyes were cold, impassive in this task. The steady beat playing in the background did little more than annoy him, and the girl's soft voice did nothing to hold his interest. But when Youji showed up at the door to the backroom, a shapely redhead behind him, Aya nodded once, setting aside his work in order to follow them to the mission room.

Manx was paler than normal, her face drawn and lines beginning to show around eyes with dark circles under them. Aya had to wonder precisely how long she'd been awake. The curls to either side of her face were lusterless, probably rather dirty and definitely just thrown into place with little regard to how they looked. Her dress was far more wrinkled than he'd initially noticed, and Aya frowned deeply. This was not the Manx he knew, who always looked beautiful and well-kept.

"What's our mission?" came Omi's hushed voice, telling Aya that the boy had also noted Manx's state. Aya wasn't particularly surprised. Omi tended to be one of the sharpest eyes in the team - he had to be, since it was those eyes that aided him in his hacking and research for their missions. Aya noted, too, the worry in Omi's eyes. Omi was the most caring of all of them, Aya knew. 

"It's not official, yet," Manx began, seating herself across from Aya and looking at each of them in turn. It took some work for Aya to conceal his surprise behind a dispassionate gaze. There were so many differences between this visit and her normal demeanor. "But we're calling in everyone, including our last-resort operatives. Two of our operatives are missing, and have been for three days now."

The words were nearly a physical blow. Each member of Weiss acted shocked, amazed. Even Aya, who prided himself on allowing very little of his true emotions to show through, felt his eyes widen. But apparently, Manx wasn't finished. "The reason I'm here to brief you instead of Birman is simple."

"She's out working the field?" Youji hazarded, though Aya suspected that the flash of insight he'd just gotten had hit the ex-detective as well. And from the looks in Omi and Ken's eyes, they were privy to the realization as well.

Before Manx could respond, Aya spoke up, his voice nearly inflectionless. "Birman's one of the missing operatives. Isn't she, Manx?" Grief and worry combined to form a harsh mask over Manx's features. She nodded once, abruptly, then rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"Yes. They were last seen at the airport." Manx sighed, leaning over so that she was staring down at the floor, her forehead propped by her hands. Youji rose, going to stand behind the distraught woman. Silently, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She didn't object. After a few minutes, she finally looked back up. "You will be responsible for aiding us in discovery of who this kidnapper is. Once we have a target, I'll come with your official mission orders." One by one, they nodded. There was no talk of whether or not they would take this mission, or who would be involved. They all knew Birman. They'd all do their part.

* * *

When she swam back to consciousness, he was there. He sat on a folding chair, hunched over something held in his hands. She sucked in a breath, her muscles screaming pain at the motion. She blinked back tears, knowing they'd do nothing. She hadn't seen her companion in ages, could barely think past the pain and certainly didn't have any energy to spare to think of his name. He looked up at the sound, eyes spearing her and holding her in place.

Something passed between them, some knowledge that terrified her. He was going to kill her. He wanted nothing from her, didn't care about her activities in Kritiker. Until that moment, she'd held within her a tiny flicker of hope that he would ultimately ransom her back to Kritiker, that he would extract some information from her and let her go. She hadn't seen his face. She hadn't heard his voice. She doubted that she would ever be able to identify him, no matter how well she'd been trained. But none of that mattered.

She wasn't going to survive this. The thought nearly choked her, a sob forcing its way past the pain. Her eyes remained dry as her chest heaved, the panic hurting as much emotionally as physically. But the wave of worry passed, and she was left staring at his eyes again. 

Even though she couldn't see his mouth, she saw the eyes crinkle and knew he was smiling. But the malicious glint told her too much. He was happy about the pain. He wanted it to last. And when she realized that, her mind shut down entirely and she curled back up, waiting for her own death.

* * *

"What do you have for us, Omi?" Aya said harshly, regretting the harshness as soon as it was out of his mouth but showing none of that. He watched as the boy shook his head regretfully, then scowled. 

"Nothing, Aya-kun. And I've got nothing to go on. They were taken by a taxi. Do you realize how many of them there are? Do you realize how insane a search would be to try and find one in the mess? It's hopeless, useless. It would be better to start a canvas of the city and hope we turn up results." Omi ran his long, slender fingers through unkempt hair.

"It's been seventy-eight hours since they were last seen. We have to turn up something soon," Aya said harshly, just as Ken bolted into the room.

"As in now?" he asked breathlessly, then grabbed Aya's hand, dragging him out of the room. Omi followed curiously, watching Aya jerk away and stalk after Ken on his own. "Whoever the killer is, he's got to know about us," Ken continued, the words almost strangling in his throat. Omi and Aya looked at him askance as they cleared the doorway and headed into the yard behind the flowershop. It was old, and though they owned it, none of the four of them cared to keep it up. So it had gone to the weeds and wildflowers, the grass high and half-dead. In the center of the yard was something new, a small pile of bones that Youji stood over.

Omi hushed his cry before it could summon the neighbors and ran inside to get the camera. Youji stared with a policeman's dispassionate gaze at Aya, then nodded toward the pile. "We think it's our operative, but we won't know for certain until the lab can run a check. However, I can say with certainty that this pile wasn't here last night."

Aya nodded, circling the pile as Omi returned. He demanded over a hundred shots of every conceivable clue in every conceivable angle. And then they began moving the bones, their hands encased in gloves and careful to place them in plastic bags that Manx had left for just such a purpose. At the bottom of the pile was the most gruesome sight. The head had been severed and left intact, whereas the bones had been picked nearly clean by some sort of animal. And they snapped several pictures of the head and face before realizing that it was laying on a rather dusty version of Birman's jacket. "Oh, Kami-sama," Omi whispered softly.

When Aya turned, Manx stood on the edge of the lawn, staring at them. Beside her was a strange man, an operative they'd never met before. The man stood tall, his slender build, dark hair, and wire-rimmed glasses giving him the look of Crawford. But his face wasn't twisted in a smirk. Instead, he looked earnest, thoughtful. When Manx started to move forward, he stopped her, then beckoned each of the Weiß members to him. Slowly, they went.

His eyes tracked their every movement, a small smile of approval blossoming on his face when they carefully walked a straight line back to him, instead of just striding over. They stopped on the sidewalk, looking at him. It was Manx who spoke first, however, introducing them. "Weiß, this is Himalayan. He will be doing a forensic analysis of the scene." Youji raised an eyebrow. Ken and Omi's eyes went wide. Only Aya nodded as if Himalayan was expected.

Himalayan nodded, then walked away, returning with an aluminum suitcase and opening it to reveal several instruments nested within. He calmly directed each of them to remove their shoes so that he could process them. As they did so, he placed a rubber band around each of his smooth-soled shoes. Once that was done, he pulled on latex gloves, then began the slow process of what he called 'walking the grid.' Omi leaned over, asking Aya what the rubber bands had been for.

"To differentiate his footprints from ours and the killer's," Aya said softly, earning a surprised glance from Manx. He met her eyes and smiled very slightly. "I read crime novels. It's a good way to get a feel for those we're working against." He could almost see the file being stored in Omi's head for future reference. Youji and Ken were standing a bit away, talking quietly between themselves, no doubt echoing the conversation he'd just had with Omi.

The search lasted nearly the entire day, with Himalayan going so far as to search each branch of every tree in the small yard. And as he reached the last one, he uttered a small exclamation, pulling out what appeared to be a plastic bag with something in it. He bagged the sandwich bag in yet another plastic bag, then walked back to the sidewalk. Once there, he put his treasures into the suitcase, then rose to look at Manx. "We should get this stuff down to the lab." She nodded, leading the way into the Koneko. Weiß followed in confusion.

* * *

There was a hidden door to the mission room, one they'd never even noticed before. It wasn't a door in the wall, but instead, one on the floor, lifting upward and displaying stairs leading down into darkness. Himalayan walked down a few of the steps, then reached out to the wall and hit a light switch, illuminating what appeared to be a concrete reinforced set of rooms. Manx followed after him, still looking as weary as she had the day she'd given them the mission, but graceful as ever. One by one, the members of Weiß followed after her.

When they reached the bottom, they were confronted by a hallway and several doors. It was clear the bunker extended far beyond the area occupied by the Koneko, and was far deeper than they'd expected. Himalayan walked authoritatively up to a door, opening it to reveal a rather large, very well-stocked scientific lab. He glanced back at Manx, then went in, closing the door behind him. 

As soon as he was gone, Ken turned to Manx, demanding to know who he was. She looked at him through world-weary and exhausted eyes. "Himalayan is a forensics expert, Siberian. If anyone can tell you what the body in your backyard means, its him. He's been working within Kritiker for nearly ten years now." Ken stepped back, eyes gone wide, but Aya paid no attention. Instead, he walked to the door, opening it and stepping into the lab.

Himalayan glanced up, raising an eyebrow. While the sardonic look seemed to fit on his sharp features, Aya got the impression that it was not his natural expression. "You want something?" he asked coolly before turning back to his current test. Aya drifted closer before speaking.

"What have you found?" The question was curt but interested, and Aya's keen eyes easily noted the grooves in the piece of bone that Himalayan was examining.

"I haven't had much time to look," Himalayan said, then gestured to Aya, indicating that the redhead should stand beside him. "But on the surface, we have two sets of grooves on this bone, and possibly others." He began by pointing to the deeper set of grooves. "These grooves are focussed on each edge of the bone, indicating that whatever the tool, it was used to break apart the skeleton." Aya frowned at the small, squarish grooves.

"What type of tool was it?" Aya asked quietly, pulling on a latex glove and fingering one of the grooves. They touched something deep in his mind, the answer just there under the surface of his subconscious.

"Well, let's look at the indentations," Himalayan said. "First of all, the way they're situated, it strikes me that the tool was used to break the bones apart. That indicates that it was a bludgeoning tool of some sort. But it had some sort of teeth on the hammer side of it."

"Hammer?" Aya asked, frowning at him. "Why a hammer?"

"Lack of a better term. It could just as easily be a heavy shoe or the like."

"Cleats?" Aya questioned, thinking of Ken's soccer shoes. Himalayan shook his head.

"No. Cleats are too lightweight. And the indentation pattern doesn't quite fit. It's a good thought, but not the right one."

Aya nodded, staring at the small depressions as though he could somehow derive the answer just by looking at them. His fingers feathered over them slowly, and suddenly, he realized just what they reminded him of. "What about a meat tenderizer?"

Himalayan looked at Aya sharply, then back at the bones. "Yes," he said slowly, frowning. "It might be a tenderizer. I'll have to run some more tests to be certain, but the pattern certainly fits."

Aya just nodded. "Let's move on. What about the other set of grooves?"

"Now those came from an animal - probably a large dog." Himalayan pointed out the scrapes and shallow grooves all over the bone. "I suspect that the killer gave Sphynx's body to starving dogs after he was beheaded."

The codename caught at Aya. "Sphynx? He's been identified?"

"It wasn't difficult," Himalayan said calmly. "I'd worked with him before and he was the one of the two missing operatives."

* * *

"What do you have for us?" Manx's voice was quiet as she stood in the doorway. Aya and Himalayan looked up at her quietly, then the forensic expert motioned her over. 

"It doesn't look good," he said quietly, lips thinned in what Aya had come to realize was worry. "There's no deadline. If he intends for us to find Birman, odds are, it's after her death."

Manx frowned, shaking her head. "How do you know that?" Her voice shook slightly, though whether it was with exhaustion or fear, Aya couldn't tell. Perhaps it was a mixture of the two. The two Kritiker contacts had been closer than he'd initially realized, after all. More than once, one or the other had said something to indicate that they viewed each other almost as family.

Now, Himalayan placed a hand on her arm, then guided her to the table where the plastic bag's contents had been emptied. The tiny forensic clues lay spread out, having been tested already within an inch of their lives. Himalayan pointed out each piece slowly, beginning the explanation.

"The rocks there are a combination of quartz, mica, and graywacke." When Manx questioned the last word, Himalayan nodded. "It's a geological term for sandstone that contains quartz, feldspar, and fragments of other rocks. In this case, the fragments include shale, granite, and basalt." He frowned a bit, then moved on to the next clue. "The paper was a printout of a picture of a Boeing B767-200. After some research, I managed to pinpoint the picture to a Japan Airlines webpage, which flies out of the Tokyo Narita International Airport. Specifically, Japan Airlines operates out of the second terminal."

Manx nodded, then said quietly, "Tell me more about the plane itself, and how it figures into the rocks."

"Well, we're not certain of the connection yet, but the 767 is forty eight and a half meters long, and forty seven point six meters wide. It stands fifteen point eight meters tall with two hundred thirty seats. It can fly at the speed of eight hundred sixty-seven kilometers per hour."

"We think the plane itself has very little to do with this," Aya said suddenly. His voice brought Manx's head up sharply. "In fact, I suspect that it indicates the place, not a particular object."

"Why?" challenged the red-headed woman.

"Because there's only one place it can be. If we find Birman at all, it will be somewhere around terminal two of Narita International."

"There is something else," Himalayan volunteered suddenly, catching Manx's attention once more. He dragged her over to the dusty jacket. "The dust on this is actually fine sand. Siltstone grains, to be precise." As he said it, he reached into a sleeve, bringing out a small trowel. The blade was dusty with the same sand as the jacket. "A Dutch Trowel. The handle is ash hardwood, the blade tempered steel. It's about twelve inches long, all told, and weighs approximately six pounds."

"And the connection?" Aya heard the hesitation in Manx's voice, and felt very sorry for her.

"He's going to bury Birman. The only question is whether she'll be alive when he does so."

* * *

She awoke to the sensation of being dragged along sandy ground, bits of the dust flying up to catch in her nostrils. If she concentrated enough to bring her mind past the pain and discomfort, she could hear the sound of planes taking off, could see them flying low in the air. Was she near an airport, then? Did he intend to make her disappear completely by putting her on a plane after killing her? Surely that wouldn't matter. Surely she'd be found when they landed.

Before her mind could travel far in that direction, she was dumped unceremoniously into a hole. He stared at her through the ski mask for a long time, then took a shovel in his hands, turning to a rather tall pile of sand and dirt beside him. Understanding didn't come until the first shovelful of grains hit her face. She spluttered behind the tape, then shook her head.

But she couldn't get away from him. The hole was too deep, her body too weak. And as the sand began to pile up on her, she was left with the miserable thought that Kritiker would never find her. And part of her hoped they wouldn't. She didn't want Manx to see what she'd come to in the end, didn't want the woman she considered almost a sister to come undone by her death. Her last thought was how surprisingly heavy sand could be.


End file.
